


Biweekly Log 15

by stephanericher



Series: Drabbles [18]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball, Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Cisswap, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Other, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:29:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stephanericher/pseuds/stephanericher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles published 11/20/14-1/3/15</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biweekly Log 15

1\. Ocean (Nijimura Shuuzou/Midorima Shintarou)

“I bet you’ve been told you have eyes like the ocean a lot,” says Nijimura—he’s too buzzed to care how corny he sounds but he just wants Midorima to know he cares, really.

Midorima’s ocean-eyes are sharp; he’s been nursing half a glass of beer all night (Nijimura would expect no less, of course), and he leans closer to answer.

“I haven’t, actually.”

He’s telling the truth—damn. Poor kid; he’s retreated so far into his shell that he hasn’t gotten to experience the rush of learning dumb cliches before they’re hackneyed.

“Well, you do. You know, green, sparling, pretty.”

“Thank you.”

He’s blushing. It’s not the alcohol. Nijimura grins and leans in even closer. “I’m going to kiss you.”

Midorima swallows. Nijimura presses his lips to Midorima’s mouth—he’s not a great kisser, but they’ll work on that.

* * *

2\. Breakdown (Hara Kazuya/Hanamiya Makoto) for unlikehisname

Makoto doesn’t look at him when he comes in, face toward the frosted glass hospital window. He almost always looks except when he’s mocking, but this time he probably isn’t. To be honest, it’s unsettling; Hara feeds off of others’ levity and discomfort but he has no clue what to do when he’s this rattled himself.

“Hey, uh…Hanamiya?”

There’s no reply, barely a twitch in response. So he’s going to play it like this. At least this is closer to how he usually is, trying to shut everyone out. Hara takes a step closer, and then another. Then he walks to the edge of the bed and plops down. Hanamiya starts forward but still won’t look at him.

“Hanamiya…” he drags out the syllable and pokes his cheek. “Makoto-kun…”

This gets Hanamiya to turn and glare. Hara grins back at him.

Hanamiya makes a strangled sort of sound and tries to turn away, but Hara’s too fast, seizing the edge of his face with his fingertips. “Nope.”

“Fuck you,” says Hanamiya.

They sit in silence for a few more minutes. Hara intertwines his fingers with Hanamiya’s (his hand is remarkably clammy, but Hara doesn’t say anything this time).

* * *

3\. Opera (Midorima Shintarou/Nijimura Shuuzou) for ushiwakatoshis

Shuuzou is not terribly fond of opera—he can’t sit still for so long, especially when it has to do with a story in a language he can’t understand. Some of the music is nice, but some of it just isn’t to his taste (it’s not like he hates classical music but he’s not big on the vocal style) and then, of course, there’s dressing up. Again, it’s not something he can’t handle but he feels a little bit out of place in this kind of a tuxedo. He sighs, pushing at his hair to get it to stay down.

And then there’s the tie—he’d worn one all through middle school, but even so it never felt right and he always kind of looked delinquent-ish (as one classmate had put it) what with the way it always managed to lean to one side and flap in the slightest breeze—he’d always looked sharp, but not quite sharp enough.

“Are you ready?”

“Does it look like I am?”

It comes out a bit harsher than he intends it, but Shintarou doesn’t flinch. He strides across the room (damn, his legs are long) and peers down at Shuuzou’s tie through his lenses. And then his fingers are at Shuuzou’s throat, through the loop in his tie, undoing it. He pulls at it gently several times and then reknots it, too quickly for Shuuzou to see exactly what he’s doing (it’s definitely some fancy shit that he’s never seen before, though).

“There.”

Shuuzou looks in the mirror. He still feels kind of ridiculous but he definitely looks presentable.

“Thanks.”

Shintarou inclines his head slightly, and Shuuzou offers out his arm. Shintarou takes it cautiously. (Shuuzou’s probably doing it all wrong, in the wrong room facing Shintarou at the wrong angle but this high society shit is just endless and even Shintarou will admit that the ritual is maybe a little bit too much. But this part is fun as hell, even if they’re just walking down the stairs and to the door like this before waiting for a cab.)

*

Shuuzou spends the whole show watching Shintarou tilted forward in his seat, eyes flickering across the stage. He is gorgeous and bright and so connected to whatever the hell is going on that it takes on almost a magical kind of quality, if Shuuzou was feeling particularly cheesy. Shintarou asks him afterward which part he liked the best and Shuuzou shrugs and says he liked everything.

Shintarou frowns.

“Okay, fine. You were the best part.”

One thing these society people got right were the tiny private opera boxes. That way Shuuzou has Shintarou’s blush (and his lips) all to himself for this moment.

* * *

4\. Scarf (Himuro Tatsuya/Kagami Taiga)

He spends Christmas in Tokyo, in the cold wet rain instead of cold wet snow–it’s not like he’s spending all that much time outside, anyway. And it doesn’t matter if he’s spending Christmas in Akita or Tokyo or Los Angeles or anywhere else, because as hackneyed as it sounds he’s really just happy he can spend it with Taiga again. And this kind of shitty, sleepy weather is more conducive to lying on top of each other on the couch and slow-roasting meat in the oven and drowning out the sounds of water flowing through the gutters outside the window with cheesy holiday playlists they’d made together.

Even so, they go shopping on one of the last days of his visit, when it’s not quite so drizzly and dreary. It’s like when they were kids and Alex drove them to the mall and they all split up to buy each other presents and met up at the food court a few hours later–but now they have their parents’ credit cards with the limits raised and it’s a little less clear what Taiga wants.

Tatsuya ends up at a leather goods store, wandering through the aisles until the scent clings to him, shoving aside belts and jackets, searching for a pair of gloves in Taiga’s size that he might actually like. He finally reaches a simple black pair, slips his own hands inside–there’s definitely enough wiggle room; they’ll fit. Tatsuya meets Taiga back at McDonald’s, where he’s on at least his third burger, and places the bag on the table next to him. The gloves do fit, and Taiga stops eating for a few minutes to admire the way they look and feel. Then he reaches into his backpack and pulls out a green knit hat.

“It matches your scarf,” he says, smiling.

It does match, even though it’s from a different designer, and when Taiga places it on his head it’s soft and cool against his skin. Taiga’s gloved fingers are still at the edges of his face, tracing back toward his ears, and Tatsuya feels an unprecedented surge of warmth inside of him (and it has nothing to do with wearing a hat inside a heated restaurant).

* * *

5\. Placid (Kagami Taiga/Takao Kazunari)

Kagami’s seen too many pictures of his own sleeping face (Takao takes them and then shows him, but not after he’s uploaded it to all of his fucking social media) to be able to say he looks serene—he looks angry most of the time, or like he’s trying to concentrate. Takao, on the other hand, has a sort of graceful placidness on his face, a calm that he never has when he’s awake. His limbs are loose and his hair falls around his face and he looks beautiful—not that he doesn’t when he’s awake, but he looks almost fragile, almost like touching him would break if not him then something—like he’s made of blown glass, except Kagami knows he’s not. Still, he never risks the chance.

* * *

6\. Lost (Haizaki Shougo/Kise Ryouta)

The thing about Ryouta is that he knows how lost Shougo is; no matter what kind of front Shougo puts up he’ll always know. He’ll always know and look at Shougo because he knows (at least he cares enough to figure it out, though; it’s not like he’s got some great intellect or some shit). Shougo knows how lost Ryouta is, too, even though no one would listen if he said anything, but he can use it to his advantage between them before Ryouta twists it, make Ryouta writhe under him before he’s paid back in kind but it’s still fucking worth it.

* * *

7\. Group Project (Aomine Daiki/Kagami Taiga/Midorima Shintarou) for anon

Midorima always makes them leave the room so he can do all the work when they do group projects but then complains that he has to do everything himself—it’s the most annoying kind of paradox that even Kagami just doesn’t feel like arguing over anymore (Aomine never really did, because he’d put up with a lot of complaining if it meant he had to do nothing and even got a grade good enough to please his parents out of the deal). Kagami sighs and buries his face in Aomine’s neck, and Aomine halfheartedly pats him on the hand.

“You don’t actually want to do this, do you?”

“Well, yeah. I feel useless like this.”

“You could make me a sandwich.”

Kagami bites him, light and quick, and Aomine yelps and pulls away, rubbing his neck. “What? I’m hungry. This is your house, so I can’t just go into the refrigerator.”

Kagami snorts. “Like that’s ever stopped you before. And even if it had, well…you’re my boyfriend, so the permission is kinda implied.”

How he goes so easily from snarky to blushing is kind of like magic—Aomine enjoys both of those sides of Kagami immensely, though.

“You could make Midorima a sandwich. And make me one while you’re at it.”

Kagami huffs but stands up. “Fine.”

Aomine watches from the couch; it’s nice watching his boyfriends do what they’re good at. Come to think of it, it’s kind of a shame Kagami doesn’t have a piano (considering how much his dad makes he could definitely afford one, and he sure as hell has the space for it) because it’s been a while since he’s been able to talk Midorima into playing something for him.

When Kagami slaps a plate into his hands, Aomine eyes it suspiciously. “His is bigger.”

“You haven’t been working.”

Aomine kicks at him, but Kagami dodges, making his way toward the bedroom. Aomine follows, sandwich in hand. When he sees both of them in the doorway, Midorima looks like he’s about to say something but Kagami cuts him off.

“I made you a sandwich.”

Midorima seems taken aback, but then says, “Thank you.”

Damn it—Kagami, of course, has those cute moments that melt even Midorima’s perfectly-frozen heart. Aomine slips in past Kagami and half-falls onto the back of the chairs, hugging Midorima around the shoulders with one arm. Midorima squawks.

“You should take a break,” says Aomine.

“Get off,” says Midorima. “You’re heavy.”

Aomine hugs him tighter. He smells nice, like some kind of spicy thing (maybe that’s his lucky item or something).

“And it hasn’t even been half an hour.”

“You’re homework’s not going anywhere.”

“It’s your homework, too.”

Aomine ignores him.

Midorima swivels his neck, probably turning to Kagami. “Will you get him off me?”

Kagami sighs and comes over, placing the plate on the desk. Then he wrenches Aomine’s arm off of Midorima’s chest. Aomine’s about to latch on again when Kagami lifts Midorima up into the air and hoists him over his shoulder. Midorima squaws again—Kagami’s shoulders ripple; he’s probably pound-for-pound the strongest of the three of them and lifting all nearly-200 centimeters of Midorima is next to nothing. He tosses Midorima to the bed and flops down next to him. Aomine puts his sandwich on the desk and sits on the bed, falling into place with his arm around both Kagami and Midorima.

“Break,” says Kagami.

Midorima huffs but lets them crawl on top of him anyway; as usual his protests don’t stand with his actions.

“Okay, but only for five minutes,” he mutters.

Their legs are already all knotted together and Midorima’s fingers are tangling in his hair and these words are even weaker—but Aomine won’t say anything this time, just lock his fingers tighter into Kagami’s and breathe in that wonderful spicy smell on Midorima’s neck.

* * *

8\. Bears (Midorima Shintarou, Murasakibara Atsushi) for didsw

“Don’t you have friends?”

Murasakibara blinks. “Aren’t you my friend?”

“You can’t just ask people like that.”

Murasakibara glares down at him—when, at the age of thirteen, Midorima had cleared his parents and all of his teachers in height, he had been very grateful that he would not have to be literally looked down upon, but then, of course, there was Murasakiabara, who still insists on being more than ten centimeters taller and it’s ridiculous. “Well?”

“We don’t talk. We don’t even live in the same prefecture anymore.”

“Muro-chin has friends back in America.”

“Why couldn’t you have gone shopping with him, then? Isn’t he here?”

Murasakibara’s glare darkens even further. “He said he had to see that stupid eyebrow Kagami guy.”

“Well…one of your brothers, then?”

“They’re all busy,” says Murasakibara. “And you came.”

This is true. Midorima sighs. “Well, fine. What do you need to buy?”

“Candy,” says Murasakibara. “And T-shirts, I guess.”

Midorima presses his finger to the middle of his forehead.

*

They end up at a cutesy girly store, where Murasakibara doesn’t really look out of place despite his size. The purple hair and lollipop (third of the afternoon, Midorima really wants to stop at a drugstore and buy him a toothbrush) make him fit right in, although the saleswoman seems very hesitant to approach him. No matter, Midorima needs a new belt and if it has bears on it, well—it might double as a lucky item somewhere along the way.

Murasakibara jabs him in the shoulder. “Look.”

He’s draping a t-shirt with a bear on it across his chest. It must be a size XXL; it looks atrocious.

“Isn’t it cute? And it’s on sale.”

“Great,” says Midorima, turning back to the belts.

“Do you want one, too? We could match.”

Sometimes he is such a child. But then again, Midorima’s lucky item could be a shirt with an animal on it or something matching with a friend (and Murasakibara certainly seems to think they’re friends). Midorima nods. “Sure.”

Murasakibara looks elated (or as elated as he ever looks, anyway).

* * *

9\. Dramatic (Suoh Tamaki, Hitachiin Hikaru) for rhetoricfemme

“Whatever. Japanese dramas are boring,” says Hikaru, crossing his arms. “You just don’t think they are because you haven’t had a lifetime of watching them.”

“And I’ve missed out!” Tamaki cries.

“Trust me, you really haven’t.”

“I’ve bonded with my grandmother over historical dramas; we shed tears together—”

“My grandma and I don’t bond over shitty things like television,” says Hikaru.

“Excuse me? Did you just insult my precious familial bond?”

“Didn’t your grandma try to get you deported?”

Tamaki sniffs. “We got off on the wrong foot, yes—”

“And we had to go through a lot to keep you around, you know,” says Hikaru. “So we deserve some of the credit for your bond or whatever.”

Tamaki groans. Hikaru grins.

* * *

10\. First Meeting (Alexandra Garcia/Araki Masako) for crossdressingkurapika

They’re playing a scrimmage against an American college, and even though these girls are maybe five years younger than Masako at most they seem so much younger—even with their hard, toned bodies and the tattoos that some of them have up their arms and into their jerseys. Had she looked that young at that age? Maybe she had.

One of them, though, doesn’t—not quite. She’s tall (all of them are tall, though, most taller than Masako and a handful taller than this girl) and she’s got a dazzling smile and she speaks shaky Japanese to match their shaky English and Masako kind of appreciates it, the way she inclines her head even though she’s not used to bowing and how her eyes are a scattered blue, like streetlights reflecting the water onto her motorcycle spokes at night. This girl looks like she could ride a motorcycle, even if Masako can’t quite master the pronunciation of her name quite yet. But she’d like to learn, maybe those hands around her mouth or that tongue against hers to teach her—these things are probably too lewd to think about on the basketball court, but she’s always been someone who does what she shouldn’t. And considering the way this girl, this Garcia Alexandra, plays basketball (the way the ball flies off her fingers like no way Masako’s ever been taught or seen), she might be, too.

They shake hands afterward, and Alexandra’s is cool. Her nails are very short. Masako doesn’t want to let go

* * *

11\. Christmas in the City (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya) for doyoulikecoffee

They exchange gifts and call their parents and everything’s done but it’s barely noon, a kind of sick way of the day dragging by. It’s Christmas, and they’re together and there’s so much time they don’t get together what with Taiga away on road trips and Tatsuya working late hours and they could just lie on the couch and look at the tree and snuggle underneath the scratchy wool throw blankets with the windows open because it’s not even really cold out.

But they make their way outside into the sun anyway, ostensibly to buy the paper but really to enjoy this first break in the clouds they’ve had in weeks (last night the fog and drizzle made it seem like they’d been looking out from the inside of some kind of old noir film, especially standing in the shadow of a prewar building with their hands stuffed deep in their coat pockets). The bodegas are pretty much the only places open today, and federal holiday or not they can still get the paper—and sandwiches and watery coffee, and they can walk down the hill to the park and sit and eat together. When they turn around to go back up, they can see the lights and the trees in all the windows on the apartment buildings, still spread out, some spilling out onto the fire escape.

“We should have done tinsel this year,” says Tatsuya absently.

Tinsel gets everywhere, though, in their hair and tracked on the soles of their feet through the apartment and it’s such a pain to clean. But they had lights on the tree this year because Taiga wanted them and next year and cleaning up for that tree is a long way away. Taiga takes Tatsuya’s hand in his.

They go downtown later; the train is fairly clear for this hour on a weekday—more places are open and it feels less absurdly subdued what with all the tourists milling about and pointing at everything and they can get lost in the crowd again. Taiga doesn’t really get why Tatsuya likes it so much but he’s glad to be included, glad that even if Tatsuya is forging blindly ahead to go nowhere and anywhere, his hand is tightly locked into Taiga’s.

The shadows are long and the streets are narrow here, and the only lights are from the brightly-colored plastic wreathes on shop doors and there’s five feet of sidewalk as a generous estimate and the people are dissipating and the strains of Christmas songs, on their last legs of relevance for another eleven (okay, ten and a half) months drift down from the windows and Tatsuya looks so damn happy here. Taiga stops and waits for Tatsuya to turn; he does. Taiga pulls him back into his arms and kisses him, point to point on that wide smile he’s wearing. Somehow he ends up with a parking meter digging into his back, but he doesn’t mind all that much, really (Tatsuya’s lips on his tend to have that effect).

* * *

12\. In Like (Kise Ryouta/Kuroko Tetsuya) for anonymous

“Kurokocchi,” Kise says.

It’s not the usual whine or squeal, just a quiet statement. He’s thumbing the edge of his coffee cup but looking right into Kuroko’s eyes and it’s almost disarmingly serious, in a way Kise doesn’t get about anything other than basketball.

“Kise-kun,” says Kuroko.

“This doesn’t really feel like a date.”

Kuroko shrugs. “You’re the one who asked me, so I thought you’d take the initiative.”

“That’s mean, Kurokocchi.” Here come the usual puffed cheeks and fake glare; they’re back to normal. “I’m trying to put the ball in your court. I mean…I—I’m in like with you. And you came on this date with me, so you—”

Kuroko pats his hand. And then he doesn’t let go. Kise falters.

“Kurokocchi?”

The happiness on his face is genuine, but Kuroko won’t let him push his luck.

* * *

13\. Annoy (Furuhashi Koujirou, Hanamiya Makoto) for kiridaiisquad

When Hanamiya gets angry, he gets even more self-absorbed than usual and it’s very easy to pull pranks on him. No one ever does because no one ever really cares—Hara might, but he’s too lazy and too busy pulling the bubble gum off his face anyway. Furuhashi doesn’t really care, either, but it might be amusing to try anyway. It’s very easy to sit behind him and stealthily tie his shoes together, even if the wait for him to finish his angry monologue thing is kind of tedious. And it might be worth it to see the way he trips spectacularly over his own feet.

As soon as he can stand up, he whirls around (the effect is much diminished). “Furuhashi!”

“I didn’t do it.”

Hanamiya glares. “Like hell you didn’t!”

There are no real repercussions, but it’s not particularly effective.

*

The next day, Furuhashi grabs Hanamiya’s homework. Hanamiya squawks and tries to grab it back, but Furuhashi grips it tightly enough for the paper to rip. It’s kind of fun seeing the light flee from Hanamiya’s eyes like that; he’s utterly predictable (why he cares so much about homework when he kisses up to the teachers enough to get good grades like that is beyond Furuhashi). This reduces Hanamiya to a spluttering mess, and he keeps kicking Furuhashi under the table. He’s angry and upset, but he still hasn’t really snapped.

*

At practice that afternoon, Furuhashi pretends to sleep next to Seto. It’s actually quite pleasant in the gym if you don’t move a muscle—well, maybe it’s a little warm. Hanamiya yells at him to get to work, of course, but he waits until the third warning to sit up.

“Seto gets to sleep.”

“Kentarou is Kentarou! He plays better if he sleeps, and he’s less trouble that way,” Hanamiya snaps.

“I do better if I sleep,” says Furuhashi.

Hanamiya glares. It’s not particularly effective.

*

Sitting next to Hanamiya, it’s very easy to tip his bowl of food into his lap. And that, somehow, does what nothing else has managed to accomplish. Hanamiya snaps, grabs Seto’s plate from across the table, and hurls it at Furuhashi.

Furuhashi ducks right away (basketball hasn’t been good for nothing) and the plate hits Yamazaki in the side of the head.

“You missed,” says Furuhashi.

“You—you—” Hanamiya stutters.

Furuhashi almost smiles.

* * *

14\. Self-Control (Haizaki Shougo/Kise Ryouta) for uneplumesombre

It’s easy to slip out of practice or class early, say he’s got another job in Tokyo—he’s actually been clearing his schedule out lately but they don’t know that—and hop on the train in the other direction, end up at a dirty street court in a town he barely knows, waiting for  man he doesn’t quite trust. He starts going when his leg is still healing, maybe to guilt him into something (an apology? He doesn’t need that from Shougo) or maybe to settle some unfinished business or maybe for something else, some reason he can’t name.

Shougo calls him out on it, but for all the wrong reasons—naturally, because he’s Shougo and because his perception has always been more warped than wood floorboards under an overflowing air conditioner. It’s in the way he steals moves, how off they are—that’s how he sees them, and that’s how he sees Ryouta’s mind. But it’s refreshing, too, in a way; Shougo mostly pretends to ignore him and just plays—it’s nice to watch him, to appreciate his style. It’s not smooth but rough and stuttering but it suits him, the perpetual crease in his brow and the wariness around his mouth and in the set of his shoulders. He wins a bit of cash here and there, what Ryouta supposes is pocket money—for video games? For dinner? He’s not sure.

When he’s done with rehabbing the injury, Shougo lets him play—sometimes, never for money, and only after everyone else is gone. It’s different from the way they’d played in junior high, different from the way they’d played against each other in that game—Ryouta’s got the advantage the whole way and he knows it, and Shougo knows it, too. He plays lunging, desperate, carnal but still restrained, never quite lashing out at Ryouta in the ways Ryouta keeps expecting him to, keeps expecting him to want to. There’s a tacit agreement between them that neither of them is going to try any really dangerous shit, but even so it’s like Shougo doesn’t want to go anywhere near the boundary.

He fists his hand in Shougo’s shirt and grins. “You’re no fun when you have self-control.”

Shougo barks a laugh and closes the gap between their lips. His kiss is bruising and sour and finally like he’s toeing the line, just a little bit.

* * *

15\. Nerves (Nijimura Shuuzou/Himuro Tatsuya) for uneplumesombre

Even after rehearsing this moment in his head several times over, it’s still nerve-racking. Shuuzou clutches Tatsuya’s hand tighter in his; he can feel the friction because despite the way his is all clammy and sweaty Tatsuya’s is dry. He should be the nervous one—maybe he is, considering how good he is at hiding all outward signs that he even has emotions other than vaguely happy or fake-amused, but damn. Tatsuya kisses him on the cheek. Well, that clears his mind of just about everything and he doesn’t remember to be nervous as they open the door.

His father waves from the bed; there’s more color in his cheeks today and his eyes are sharp.

“Dad, this is Tatsuya. Tatsuya, this is my dad.”

Tatsuya bows. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

Shuuzou’s father inclines his head. “It’s lovely to meet you, as well; forgive me for not getting up…”

“Perfectly understandable,” says Tatsuya.

“So, how long have you two been going out?”

Shuuzou chokes on his breath.

Tatsuya smiles. “Oh, about a month? Right, Shuu?”

Shuuzou coughs. “Yeah, uh…yeah. A month.”

He’s quite sure his face is turning some unsightly color and his brain has mostly ceased to function. How the hell did his father know just like that? He’d made sure to drop Tatsuya’s hand and everything. Damn.

*

They stay talking for another hour or so (his father and Tatsuya seem to get along quite well), and then Tatsuya excuses himself to go to the bathroom. For a few seconds after he shuts the door, Shuuzou stays staring at his father.

“How did you know?”

His father grins. “The way you talked about him, I sort of figured it out, but I thought I’d wait until I saw it. But from the way you two look at each other, it’s pretty obvious.”

Shuuzou gulps.

His father pats his hand. “Shuuzou. Life’s too short to not go for what you want, who you want. And you seem to make each other very happy. And he is very pretty.”

Shuuzou sighs. “Yeah…”

His father laughs, and Shuuzou flushes even hotter. Did he really just do that in front of his father?

The door opens.

“Tatsuya,” says his father. “I’m entrusting him to you. Take good care of him.”

Tatsuya nods and grins. “Of course, sir.”

It’s not like Shuuzou had much choice in the matter to begin with.

* * *

16\. Gamble (Himuro Tatsuya/Imayoshi Shouichi/Takao Kazunari) for anonymous

They all arrive separately but coincidentally end up at the same table, and if anyone was going to check the serial numbers on their banknotes (they wouldn’t until they won, which they never do) they’d find them all consecutive.

Shouichi is the bait, the one who’s too smart for his own good—Kazunari’s just a kid and Tatsuya’s just a pretty face, and that’s how they roll. Kazunari taps out the signals on the inside of Shouichi’s foot with his toe, uses hawkeye to see everyone else’s hand and they work like that, devising strategies with a couple of quick taps in code. Tatsuya just smiles or tugs at his hair and lays down more and more money.

Shouichi folds first, and that’s when they get wary, the guy with loose pockets and the easy smile going before any of them, even that kid with the weird eyes—and that’s what does it; they all go one by one, Kazunari somewhere in the middle and the last one is Tatsuya with his hand full of low-value nonconsecutive cards. The guy with four of a kind swears loudly, but Tatsuya doesn’t flinch.

“Good game, gentlemen.”

His eyes linger on Shouichi and Kazunari.

They leave soon after that, bills safely hidden under the seat of Shouichi’s car.

“Dinner?”

Kazunari shakes his head. “You two did good today. Let’s go home and save this for later.”

Shouichi laughs, piercing the air. “Bold of you.”

* * *

17\. Scared to Death (male!Momoi Satsuki/fem!Akashi Seijuurou) for nyoameviet 

It’s very like her, to ask in a way that’s an order rather than a question, a suggestion that’s very strong—it’s not that Momoi doesn’t want to, or that he knows he’s not going to say yes. But it’s Akashi, who wore heels to junior high that made her taller than Momoi (not like almost everyone else on the team wasn’t taller than him to begin with) and who is better than Momoi at just about everything and who lives in fucking Kyoto. Basketball star or no, rich heiress or no, even she can’t shrink the distance. It’s not that Momoi thinks he can’t keep up with it (he keeps up with all the girls’ high school basketball games from every part of the country and it’s not easy because it’s almost a niche sport and he also has to keep his grades up and develop a training schedule and it’s unbearably tiring sometimes) but it’s Akashi. This is Akashi, whose red lips have haunted his dreams and made him wake up in a cold sweat and Akashi who can bend him to her will and Akashi who sinks baskets like she’s a hitman murdering in cold blood.

“Yes,” Momoi texts back later.

“I knew you’d find it amenable,” is the reply.

* * *

18\. Who More (Shuutoku) for anonymous

Ootsubo looks like he’s about to bang his head against the wall—actually, he’s looked like that pretty much every day since the start of the school year. Miyaji wouldn’t have to look far for the cause, especially since it’s probably been giving him even more of a headache.

“God,” he groans. “That fucking Midorima.”

“You tell me about it,” says Ootsubo. “If I have to deal with another stupid selfish request or unwarranted horoscope advice I will feel like murdering him.”

“I tell him I’m going to run him over and it doesn’t work!”

“That’s because your threats are empty,” says Ootsubo. “And I’m the captain so I have to be accommodating and pretend like I don’t mind him sometimes.”

“That’s because you don’t mind him sometimes,” says Miyaji. “You get that stupid smile on your face when he calls you ‘Captain’ or when he scores from half-court—”

“I could use a little more fucking respect around here,” says Ootsubo. “Considering what I have to put up with—”

“You? You don’t have to corral those damn freshmen and you don’t have to directly deal with Midorima as much as I do—”

“Neither of you have to deal with him like me.” It’s Takao.

Ootsubo looks at Miyaji; Miyaji looks at Ootsubo.

“You’re the one who willingly carts him around in a rickshaw every day,” says Ootsubo wearily. “And you’re always talking to him. He doesn’t talk to you first; he’s too antisocial except when he wants something.”

Takao puffs out his cheeks. “He’s in my class. I’m going to have to learn to deal with him.”

“Yeah, but we brought none of this on ourselves,” says Miyaji. “We’re seniors. This was supposed to be the good year.”

“It is. You have me!”

“I will fucking run you over with Kimura’s truck. Or maybe I’ll throw my brother at you; that’ll shut the both of you up.”

“Aww, Yuuya’s not so bad,” says Ootsubo. “He’s better than these kids.”

“You’re right; I’d have to tell my parents and that wouldn’t go over well. Okay, I’ll just throw him at Midorima.”

* * *

19\. This Time of Year (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Fem!Izuki Shun) for anonymous

“There’s so much pollenation, all in this nation…no, that’s bad.”

Mayuzumi tightens his grip on his novel. Maybe this will fade into the background.

“Mayuzumi-san, are you a tree in bloom?”

Mayuzumi turns the page and ignores her.

“Because I’m sakurazy about you.”

This time he groans. “That’s even worse than usual.”

“I liked it,” she says, jotting it down in her notebook.

After that, she’s quiet for a bit, and he manages to reach the end of the chapter.

“Hey, Mayuzumi-san—”

He cuts her off with a kiss. After all, that’s why you sit under the cherry trees this time of year.

* * *

20\. Someday (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia)

“I’m going to marry someday,” Tatsuya announces.

Taiga practically chokes on the half-hamburger stuffed in his mouth and Alex bites back a laugh. Tatsuya’s just full of surprises.

“Got anyone in mind?” she asks, leaning forward.

Taiga coughs. Tatsuya smiles the way he does when he’s about to give up a half-truth.

“Maybe.”

Well, especially with vague ideas like that, someday never comes. She knows that all too well.

*

“Didn’t you say you were going to get married someday?”

“Mm.” Tatsuya buries his face deeper into her chest. “It was only after I saw you in a wedding dress.”

“And?”

“And I wouldn’t mind seeing you in one again,” he says, sitting up. “Someday.”

“Someday, huh?” she laughs.

“Changing your mind already?”

His voice is light, but underneath his tone is edged with something else. She pulls him back down against her, kisses him on the cheek.

“No. I love you, and I still don’t want to get married. But if you have wild fantasies about me wearing a wedding dress…”

Tatsuya laughs. “What about tame fantasies?”

“Those, too.”

He kisses her, letting his lips linger at the corner of her mouth afterward. “Not really.”

She hums, tracing circles on his lower back with two fingers, and he shifts closer against her. She’s quite sure she’s been featured in a lot of Tatsuya’s somedays and maybes and impossible fantasies (and he’s been in as many of hers as she’d allow herself to think of), but all of them are not worth a fraction of what it is to be each other’s reality.

* * *

21\. Troubling (Mayuzumi Chihiro/Akashi Seijuurou) for anonymous

The back of Chihiro’s neck is beautiful, standing out against the shining of his silver hair in the light—Seijuurou knows how it looks, of course, because he knows everything, and he’s seen it before like this but there’s something different, some underlying quality that he can’t quite name. He frowns, sharpens his gaze.

There’s nothing on Chihiro’s neck; he knows.

Chihiro turns around. “What?”

His voice is laced with contempt and for the first time something (not fear; Akashi Seijuurou does not feel fear) creeps into Akashi at the emotion. Even though Chihiro agreed to this, even though he’s still going along—what if he doesn’t?

“Come here,” Seijuurou says. “Kiss me.”

Chihiro complies, but it doesn’t feel as satisfying this time. It’s troubling—the plan is successful; he’s playing along with Seijuurou’s wishes and for now Seijuurou supposes he’ll take that for what it’s worth.

* * *

22\. 67% (Mayuzumi Chihiro/fem!Izuki Shun) for nyoameviet

“You should have studied harder.”

She’s swinging her legs on the bench—when did she get here? And how did she see his score, anyway?

“Eagle eye,” she says. “At least you passed, though.”

“It’s your fault,” he says.

“Really?” she says. “Was it my scores of interesting puns that distracted you?”

He snorts. “That was especially weak.”

She taps her chin. “Hmm.”

He stuffs the test paper deeper inside of his bag. He probably shouldn’t have said any of that.

“I mean I don’t mind…if you’re saying I was on your mind.”

Her grin is wolfish, nothing to do with eagles at all. Nothing.

“I need to go study,” he says, gathering his bag.

She grabs onto his hand. “Please. Mayuzumi-san.”

Oh, fuck.

* * *

23\. Mischief Managed (Mayuzumi Chihiro/fem!Izuki Shun) for anonymous

Izuki’s grinning ear-to-ear, and he looks like he might just burst into whistling—Mayuzumi adjusts her hold on the book, prepared to hit him over the head with it if he’s done anything especially stupid.

“I,” he announces. “Just pranked Hyuuga. It’s been pranked number one all year!”

She takes a deep breath. “Really? You know he’s going to come after you, right?”

“Well, he can’t break up my date with a sweet girl like you,” Izuki says.

Mayuzumi snorts. “Do you know him at all? He so would, even if it’s the sweetest girl you know.”

“It could only be you,” says Izuki. “I’ve got a good read on you; I know beneath your cover you’re just—”

She does smack him. “If you’re talking about the novel, you can read it. I’m done.”

“Mayuzumi-san, please.”

His hand is warm on her shoulder, and she puts up no resistance when his mouth presses against hers. It’s better than him making stupid puns, after all.

* * *

24\. Chained (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya) for doyoulikecoffee

Tatsuya keeps looking like he’s about to say something, eyes flickering and hand twitching and if he can’t totally keep it to himself it’s got to be important—but they’ve settled everything, haven’t they? Taiga at least isn’t sure what unfinished business they have and it doesn’t seem like something Tatsuya is holding against him at least; he’s half-smiling at Taiga and sitting close to him on the couch not like they used to but like he’s more than okay with it. And so Taiga doesn’t quite have it in him to push whatever it is out of Tatsuya’s mouth.

“Taiga.”

His voice is quiet, edged.

“Tatsuya.”

His hand twitches, but this time he brings it up to his neck, seizes the chain and yanks it over his head. Taiga’s breath hitches; his teeth clench; Tatsuya won’t look him in the eye.

“You won the bet. You beat me, fair and square.”

“What? I don’t—I mean—”

“Taiga,” he says, hard and way too loudly and Taiga remembers then what Alex had said about letting Tatsuya talk and bites back the words that had only half-formed in his brain before reaching his tongue. Tatsuya looks up into his eyes and then continues, unflinching.

“We’re rivals now, and maybe we will be for a while longer. But at some point I’ll be overmatched, and you’ll go on and I’ll fall farther behind, but until then—I don’t want—I don’t want to be a burden and I don’t want to weigh you down with this and—”

He’s getting frantic now, gesturing wildly with his arms and it’s not clear if he’s lost this train of thought completely or not and maybe Taiga’s weak as hell but he can’t stand seeing this. He wraps Tatsuya tightly in his arms and Tatsuya hugs him back, half-sobbing into his chest.

“You’re not a burden, Tatsuya. This isn’t bringing me down.”

He can feel Tatsuya’s heartbeat pounding against him wildly, and he waits until it slows to speak again.

“But if you want to, we don’t have to wear them anymore.”

The words don’t feel as awful as he’d expected them to—perhaps it’s better because for the first time in years he doesn’t need to keep a necklace with him to keep Tatsuya with him, because once more he’s just a phone call away, because even though Tatsuya means everything to him they’re not quite brothers anymore, because the delicate balance has been upset over and over again and here they are, together, because even Tatsuya doesn’t feel like taking them off means they love each other any less.

* * *

25\. Kotatsu (Izuki Shun/Hyuuga Junpei) for doyoulikecoffee

It’s nice like this, feeding tangerines into Izuki’s mouth so he can’t make shitty puns and watching a special on TV with the volume on low so they don’t wake up Hyuuga’s parents or brother. And Izuki’s kind of heavy, but Hyuuga won’t say anything (especially not when the weight is mostly toned muscle, perfect for basketball)—it’s not like he’s too weak.

“Hey, Hyuuga,” says Izuki.

“Hmm?”

“This sure is a cozy-tatsu.”

Hyuuga nips at Izuki’s ear. “If it wasn’t so comfortable under here I’d smack you.”

Izuki stretches out his legs, rubbing Hyuuga’s foot with his and Hyuuga feels his grip loosen and God, Izuki is such a fucking tease.

“I knew we should start the new year together,” Izuki murmurs.

Hyuuga will forgive him this, he supposes.

* * *

26\. Do Not Disturb (Hayama Kotarou/Miyaji Kiyoshi) for anonymous

Miyaji glares at Hayama—not that that ever works, but there’s always a first time, and at this point blind optimism might be the only thing keeping him from murdering the kid right here and now.

“Look, I’m busy. I have school and my streetball team and—”

“And me!”

Miyaji glares harder. “Just let me finish this chapter, and then I’ll deal with you.”

“Okay.”

Miyaji raises an eyebrow. That’s it? He doesn’t even have to argue or beg or plead? He’s certainly not going to question this kind of luck (maybe Midorima put in a word for him with Oha-Asa? He almost snickers aloud but that would probably initiate another conversation with the brat and he’s not up for that) and so buries his face in the stupid textbook.

Not two pages in and Hayama’s nuzzling at his elbow like a cat. “Miyaji-san, are you done yet?”

“Like hell I am. And I won’t be if you keep bothering me.”

“Huh?”

Those gigantic eyes of his are creepy and most definitely not adorable. But either way, this book is boring as hell and Hayama’s still nuzzling him and maybe his hair is kind of soft. He knows as soon as he reaches out to ruffle the kid’s hair it’ll be too late, but it’s probably already too late anyway.

* * *

27\. Guru (Marauders) for anonymous

He’d been close, so close, to finishing off a gentlemanly move of pouring Evans some pumpkin juice at lunch when the glass had shot off the table and rolled away, as if someone’s spell had a hand in it and he’d spilled the pumpkin juice all over the table and Evans’s lap, and damn it all. Even though he’d done a rather nifty bit of cleaning on her robes, she’d refused to speak to him all through transfiguration and potions and herbology and dinner and now she’s off on prefect’s rounds and James has only forty minutes and counting down to figure out how to make things better.

“Ah, Prongs, still crying over our little mishap at lunch, aren’t we?”

Sirius really isn’t the person he wants to talk to. “It’s funny that you should call it our little mishap, Padfoot, because, after all, you were the one to suggest it.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that the glass slipped. Or Snivellus used some kind of charm or something.”

James glares at him. “You said it was foolproof.”

“Yes, but I didn’t say it was prankproof and you know what I always say about being on guard.”

James snorts (not that it’s really funny). He definitely won’t take any of Sirius’s love advice anytime soon—well, until he runs out of other ideas, anyway.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist!” Sirius yells as James slams the door to the dormitory behind him, making his way downstairs.

Remus ought to have a more viable solution. He’s playing gobstones with a prefect from the year below them in the common room, and raises an eyebrow at James.

“Sick of Sirius already?”

“Yes. His ideas on wooing Evans are rubbish, and yours—”

“Are nonexistent. Ask Peter.” Remus picks up a handful of stones.

James scans the room. “He’s not here.”

“That’s because he’s off with that Ravenclaw girl he’s had his eyes on for the past week or so.”

“Wait, when did he?”

Remus raises an eyebrow. “When you were mooning over Evans earlier. Pay attention.”

James groans, burying his head in his hands. Maybe he should just go back to Sirius.

* * *

28\. Ring in the New (Mayuzumi Chihiro/fem!Izuki Shun) for nyoameviet

They ring in the new year watching basketball on TV, and it’s not orthodox but it’s very them, lying on the couch with his arm around her shoulder and her not admitting she’s tired just yet despite yawning again and again.

It’s like in a light novel, only his parents keep coming into the room and looking at them and he really wants to move into the bedroom but he’ll definitely hear it from them if it happens before they go to bed. But on the other hand, it’s not like they’re going to be doing anything—and fuck it. He picks her up.

She’s heavier than he’d realized she would be, and she doesn’t look like she even feels secure, terror in her eyes as she clutches at him.

“At least pretend to be grateful,” he grumbles.

He drops her on top of the bed and then she smiles, tugging at his hand. “My hero was here.”

And then she’s asleep before he can unbutton his shirt, snoring away. She’s incredibly loud (and incredibly cute, damn it). He slips in next to her, shoving her over—in her sleep she latches onto him. Well, it could be worse.

* * *

29\. Chains (Ogiwara Shigehiro/Mochida Reiji)

Since that day, it had felt like he was carrying chains—heavier chains than any ghost’s, corporeal chains that grew in weight and in length every day, another link for every new morning that he hadn’t done something to atone, hadn’t tried to make amends and patch things up with Shige, hadn’t searched for him—and it seems wrong that now that they’re together, now that Shige really is fine, that the weight vanishes. He’s tripping over his own lightness, unsure of how to move like this, how to act.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Shige says, in that matter-of-fact way of his.

It’s not that easy to stop, of course, but Mochida feels just a little bit more comfortable.

* * *

30\. Together (Miyaji Kiyoshi/fem!Kasuga Ryuuhei) for anonymous

It’s good to be home, even if Kiyoshi’s stupid little brother took over their entire bedroom, even if he has a curfew again and the apartment feels a little bit crowded. It’s much better than the dorm because it’s cozy and he did kind of miss his family even though he’d only been halfway across the city.

Ryuu left for college, though; she’s back now and it’s wonderful. Kiyoshi’s not mushy about this whole love and relationship thing, but he’d missed her a lot since the last vacation. He doesn’t plan on telling her but she teases it out of him, brushing her lips against his cheek and smirking at him and fuck. He’s kind of mad, but at the same time he’s not going to dwell on it too much.

They play one-on-one for a bit, but she hasn’t been playing much at school and he’s been on the street ball team and it’s a bit of an overmatch. It’s fun, though—he’d missed being on the court with her.

He sends a selfie of the two of them to Okamura and asks about his love life; she rolls her eyes.

“You are such a dick sometimes, Kiyoshi.”

“You should listen to him whine sometimes,” he replies.

“I’d rather listen to you whine,” she says with a wink.

He throws the basketball at her face, but she catches it.

* * *

31\. Obvious (Nash Gold/Jason Silver)

God, it’s so fucking hot today. Of course he’d gotten a tattoo at the worst possible time, when the thermometer shoots up to over a hundred and the humidity in the air makes it thick and stagnant and everything is sweaty and itchy from his neck all the way down his arm. The blades of grass are tickling the exposed skin on his back and legs and other arm but at least his shirt makes a good pillow and Jason’s sunglasses are effective against the sun.

Speaking of Jason, he’s playing ball right now—or he should be. He’s spinning the ball on one finger and leaning against the fence, talking to a girl who’s about half his height. Nash props himself up on his good elbow to try and hear their words, turns his head—there.

“Did it hurt? When you fell from heaven?”

A giggle. Then, “You’re so cheesy.”

“But it works because I’m hot, right?”

“Maybe.”

Nash flops back onto the grass and sighs. Fuck Jason. Well, that girl’s probably going to. He rolls his eyes and stares at the clouds, tinted an orange-brown like the color of grilled salmon by the glasses. A few minutes later, he hears a thump. Jason’s sitting beside him, basketball in lap.

“Did it hurt?”

“Hey, fuck you. You think I’m falling for that?”

Jason laughs. “I was talking about the tattoo.”

“Really.”

Jason reaches out as if to prove his point, but Nash catches his hand before he can poke the arm.

“You’re going to mess it up.”

“So it did hurt.”

Nash slides his fingers in between Jason’s. They’re both so fucking sweaty that their hands refuse to stay in place, sliding like hydroplaning car tires against roads.

“You think it’ll rain?” says Jason.

Sweat drips down Nash’s forehead and almost falls into his eye; he blinks rapidly. “We should get inside anyway.”

As for what they’re going to do there, Jason should find that kind of obvious.

* * *

32\. Rogue (Kagami Taiga/Himuro Tatsuya) for crimsontentacles

Meeting up with Tatsuya has become increasingly difficult with time as their jobs get more and more demanding and Taiga spends longer stretches of time on the battlefield. He knows Tatsuya doesn’t want him to go, has heard his promises of relative security together but they both know they wouldn’t be happy like that. Even though Tatsuya probably could provide for both of them while skirting or outright defying the letter of the law, Taiga wouldn’t be able to sit idle at home and he knows Tatsuya wouldn’t let him join in.

It’s tough–on the battlefield Taiga feels like he’s doing something with his life, accomplishing heroic deeds. But he misses Tatsuya something fierce, too; he often thinks of just how unfair this whole thing really is. He doesn’t want to see that look of anguish on Tatsuya’s face when he leaves or hear the whispered plea only half-meant for his ears to just come back safe in one piece.

Maybe one day they’ll be able to retire together and live out in some country estate in quiet comfort and Tatsuya will always smile the way he does under the flickering light of the candles in the tavern run by his men and they will not have to worry about being seen with each other. They’ll walk down the street and hold hands rather than keep a few feet between them and hands at their swords as they mutter words sweeter than fresh red apples under their breaths but pretend to ignore each other.

But until then, these few nights in Tatsuya’s arms here and there will have to do.

* * *

33\. Braid (Himuro Tatsuya/Alexandra Garcia) for ultrachuujin

When he was a kid she let him braid her hair sometimes; he’d do one side and Taiga would do the other. It had always turned into kind of a mess on his side, but she hadn’t really minded.

He’s a bit better now; he can make a passable French braid but even if he couldn’t she’d let him try and he knows it. His hands feel delightful against her scalp like the pads of his fingers have been bestowed with an otherworldly gift. And it’s nice to sit between his legs on the bed while he’s propped up against the headboard, humming while he works. His skin is warm and every so often he flexes his toes.

Sometimes he misses a strand or two, but it’s not like she never does. She twists around and kisses him until he’s quite satisfied with himself, anyway.

* * *

34\. Locker Room (Aomine Daiki/Midorima Shintarou) for oikaw-atooru

Midorima’s a man of habit. In some cases, those habits are annoying as fuck, like the way he always reminds Aomine of his horoscope ranking or the way he uses his best friend’s rickshaw as his preferred method of transportation. But some are actually pretty good. Like how since Teikou he’s always been the slowest in the locker room, going about his routines painstakingly and putting his clothes on in the same exact order. He’s always the last oneout, and all Aomine has to do to get some quality time alone with him is wait.

He takes an extra-long shower (Kagami curses him out for hogging the stall but there are two others he could be using or two other people he could yell at, so whatever.) and poses in front of the mirror while he waits for Tetsu and Murasakibara to finally clear out.

Midorima’s already buttoning his pants when Aomine slinks in.

“You’re still here?”

“You’re wearing too many clothes,” says Aomine.

“I am not having sex in a dirty locker room,” Midorima declares.

“It’s clean. And you won’t even for luck?”

“We already won.”

Aomine shrugs. “There will be more games. And besides, it’ll be really quick.”

“I’m already wearing pants.”

“Which I said needs to change.”

Midorima sighs. “Fine. But you said it would be quick.”

Aomine grins and lets the towel fall. Victory. He strides over to Midorima and yanks at Midorima’s pants.

“You have lotion?”

He always does, for those perfect hands of his. reaches into his bag and pulls out a bottle. Aomine holds out his hand. When Midorima moves to close it, Aomine shakes his head.

“Take some, too.”

“My taping–”

“I’ll help you redo it. I like the way it feels.”

Midorima blushes a gorgeous bright pink and pours some lotion into his left hand. Aomine feels himself growing hard just watching. This does not go unnoticed.

“Why are you always so horny?”

“Because you’re you.”

Midorima blushes even more furiously. Aomine spreads the lotion across his hand and thumbs the base of Midorima’s cock and he half-groans into it. Aomine runs a finger down the shaft and there it goes. Midorima’s right hand is gripping his shoulder and he brushes the knuckles of his left over the edge of aomine’s cock and oh fuck.

He did say he’d make it quick and he’d really rather not have Akashi or someone walk in ont them, so he grabs both of their cocks and fists them in one hand. Fuck, that’s good, the pulsing warmth of Midorima against his shaft and the taped fingers brushing against the head.

“Fuck, fuck, oh, fuck, Midorima–”

Midorima sinks his teeth into Aomione’s shoulder to suppress his own moans, and they both increase the pase, erratic and furious.

“Fuck, ahh–”

He comes sooner than he thought he would, Midorima not too far behind. Midorima scowls when he releases Aomine’s shoulder from his teeth and looks up.

“We should have done that in the shower.”


End file.
